


Noctis and Prompto’s Guide to Surviving High School With a  Hopeless, All-Consuming Crush on Your Best Friend

by MathClassWarfare, ViciousSHADi



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Absent Parents, Alcohol, Anxiety, Art, Bisexuality, Body Image, Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Canon Compliant, Depression, Dogs, Dreams, Eating Disorders, Estrangement, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gentiana (Briefly), High School, Inspired by Music, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Politics, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Pryna (Briefly), Recreational Drug Use, Secret Crush, Smoking, Spoilers, Suggestive Themes, Texting, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26606413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathClassWarfare/pseuds/MathClassWarfare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViciousSHADi/pseuds/ViciousSHADi
Summary: DO work hard if you want to get into the same college as him. (He’s so fucking smart,ohmygods—and cute. Did I mention he’s cute?)DO NOT get yourself into situations where you're sitting really, really close and gazing into his eyes.DO NOT give other people advice about how to date him. (It hurts.)DO NOT bother your trusted childhood friend with your dumb personal problems. She has enough to worry about.DO take pictures of other things sometimes. People are going to ask questions.DO NOT let on that you’re jealous when he talks about girls. Or other guys. Or anybody.Most importantly, DO NOT under any circumstances, tell him how you really feel. If you do that, it will get awkward and terrible, and you’ll lose him forever.
Relationships: Lunafreya Nox Fleuret & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 50
Kudos: 118
Collections: Promptis Big Bang 2020





	1. First Year

**Author's Note:**

> Words cannot express how grateful I am to [Shadi](https://twitter.com/JunkyardSHADi) for collaborating with me on this project. Not only did she agree to draw this baby-faced, beardless boy, she did three (3!) gorgeous, full-color pieces! I feel ridiculously giddy every time I look at them. (Look at them [here](https://twitter.com/JunkyardSHADi/status/1308859910839562241?s=20) or embedded in the fic!)
> 
> I also have to mention that it's Bi+ Visibility day, and as a bisexual Prompto stan, I am extremely pleased that this ended up as my posting day for the Big Bang. (Sparkling Heart )(Purple Heart )(Blue Heart )

It must have been hours since Noctis fell asleep, judging from his dry mouth and brain fog. He got home from school and immediately crashed in bed. Now he’s all sticky and gross in his uniform—at least he thought to throw his jacket on the floor. It hasn’t been a good day, and the last thing he wants to be right now is conscious, but he should probably eat something, or at least drink some water. 

He groans, stretching his limbs, and his foot hits something—no, somebody. Blinking his eyes open, he looks up to see Prompto sitting at the foot of his bed, knees pulled up to his chest, taking up as little space as possible. Noctis quickly retracts his foot. “Sorry, dude,” he yawns.

“No worries.” Prompto shuts his book. “I’m the one sitting on your bed. Is that . . . okay?” 

“I don’t mind.” Noctis actually really likes that Prompto’s on his bed, and that probably makes him a terrible person. If Prompto had any idea Noctis was thinking this, he’d run right out of the apartment and never come back. Rubbing his eyes, Noctis adds, “Not like there’s anywhere else to sit in here.”

He stretches again, careful to not kick Prompto this time. Then he rolls out of bed and shuffles over to the closet. 

The first thing he notices is that the stack of t-shirts is taller than he remembers, and not as tidy. Then when he turns to throw his shirt onto the pile on the floor, the pile isn’t there. Scanning the room, he finds his dirty clothes sticking out of the hamper, where his clean clothes had been sitting all week. He didn’t have it in him to fold right away—washing and drying was hard enough—and then when everything was so wrinkly, he didn’t see the point. 

He looks at Prompto, who’s staring at the corner of the ceiling, chewing on his lip.

“Did you . . . fold my laundry?” Noctis asks, pulling a crumpled t-shirt over his head. 

Prompto laughs in that way he does when he’s nervous. “Is that okay? I finished the math homework and thought . . .”

Noctis shuts the closet door and slumps against it, crossing his arms. Why can’t he take care of his own basic shit? He’s already got Ignis cleaning up after him all the time. Now Prompto, too? _Fuck._ He’s so useless. 

“I—thanks, but . . .” Noctis frowns and scratches the back of his head. He looks at the floor. “You didn’t need to do that.” 

“ _Shit_ , sorry, man!” Prompto jumps to his feet. “I just thought—you seemed really tired, and—and I wanted to be helpful—or something—but I can’t fold for shit!” He looks right at Noctis and chews on his lip again. “Sorry,” he whispers.

_“Don’t!”_ Noctis laughs, covering his face. He groans and drags his hands through his hair. “Please don’t apologize—that’s even worse.”

“Okay . . .” 

“Thank you,” he finally says, reaching out to squeeze Prompto’s shoulder and bring his smile back.

“Do you wanna copy the math homework?” 

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” Noctis steps out of his room and makes his way to the kitchen. “Wanna play AssCreed while I do that?” 

“Hell yeah!” Prompto emerges with an armful of books and plops onto the couch.

“Cool. I’ll order pizza.”

“I’m paying for half!” Prompto shouts, as if he doesn’t already know this is futile.

Noctis just laughs.

“Noct!”

He pours himself a glass of water, pulls up the app for the pizza place, and starts to feel just a little less useless—selecting the weird toppings he knows that Prompto likes. There’s still a heaviness he can’t shake, but there’s also a chance that tonight won’t totally suck. At least he gets to hang out with his best friend.

⁂

There’s nobody else in the darkroom, so Prompto can put on whatever he wants without worrying about annoying people. Today, it’s old school Tenebraen punk. He’s bobbing along to the snarling vocals and sloppy guitar as he watches an image emerge from the photo paper—Noctis’s feet on a skateboard, mid-ollie. He feels kind of proud of himself as he hangs it up to dry. It wasn’t an easy shot to get.

While he’s still thinking about how badly he wants those skate shoes, a cheerful kweh interrupts the song. It’s a text from Noctis.

  
**NOCT:** Can you get out of class?  
**PROMPTO:** Ye  
**PROMPTO:** What’s up?  


He hopes everything’s alright. The last time Noctis asked him to skip class, it was because he was having a bad depression day.

  
**NOCT:** Cool  
**NOCT:** Bleachers?  
**PROMPTO:** (Thumbs Up Sign ≊ Thumbs Up)  


Prompto disconnects from the speaker and quickly packs up his stuff. The teacher looks at him as he’s making his way through the classroom, so he holds up his camera. Taking photos is always an acceptable excuse to leave during photography class. She smiles and goes back to helping another student with the dry mount press.

When the coast is clear, he slips out a door behind the stairs. Then he jogs to the athletic fields, making sure nobody sees him duck under the bleachers. 

Noctis is already there, sitting on a stolen milk crate and smoking. He looks up as Prompto approaches. “Hey.” 

“Hey!” Prompto drops his bag on the ground and takes a seat on the other milk crate. “Don’t you have PE right now?” 

_“Ehh . . .”_ Noctis takes a drag and blows the smoke away, over his shoulder—very considerate. Then he picks up the pack sitting next to him, flips open the lid, and holds it out to Prompto. 

Prompto knows he probably shouldn’t smoke—he has track right after school—but it’s hard to say no to Noctis. Plus, it’s an appetite suppressant and might help him resist the siren song of the vending machine. When he slides one out of the box, the smile he gets from Noctis makes him feel much better about the decision. He smiles back, leaning in for a light.

“I said I didn’t feel well,” Noctis explains, dropping the lighter back into his jacket pocket. “So they let me go.”

“Oh, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just worn out from training this morning.” He takes another drag, then tips his head back to blow the smoke straight up at the underside of the bleachers. When he does this, his bangs fall away from his face, and he looks extremely cool. After a few seconds, his eyes flicker over to Prompto and catch him staring. 

“A-are you wearing eyeliner?” Prompto blurts out, like that’s some kind of excuse to be looking at him that way.

Noctis tips his head forward and squints, as if to say, _of course I’m wearing eyeliner_ , so Prompto adds, “I mean, it looks really cool.” Then he takes a too-big drag and makes himself cough.

After digging around in his stuff for a moment, Noctis pulls out an eyeliner pencil. “You wanna?” 

“Sure!” Prompto grins. How could he refuse?

“Cool . . .” Noctis flicks what’s left of his cigarette onto the gravel and grinds it under his shoe. Then he scoots closer, until their knees touch. He puts one hand on Prompto’s shoulder and starts to bring the pencil towards his face. “Hold still and keep your eyes open, okay?”

“Okay,” Prompto breathes, for the very last time. It occurs to him that this may not have been a wise choice, considering the slight problem of his enormous crush. 

He tries to focus his thoughts on the cigarette burning down between his fingers, as Noctis presses the pencil to the edge of his lashes, ever so gently. Noctis rests his hand against Prompto’s cheek as he works, and Prompto can feel his breath, soft on his face. He’s so, so close. Prompto is sure that Noctis can hear his heart beating, because it’s extremely loud inside his own head. His eyes flit around as he tries to find anywhere else to look besides his best friend’s stupid beautiful face. There’s an electrifying and terrible split-second of eye contact before Prompto’s gaze settles on the pigeons walking around on the bleachers above their heads, pecking at popcorn from last night’s game. 

“Okay . . . now I’m gonna do the top.”

Despite his best efforts, Prompto can’t help blinking.

“Hey, hold _still_.”

“I’m trying— _ow!_ ” His eye slams shut as Noctis pokes it with the pencil. 

“ _Shit!_ Sorry!”

He shrugs and gives Noctis a reassuring smile.

“Okay, you can keep your eyes closed, just . . . relax.” Noctis brushes a thumb over his eyelid, and Prompto thinks he might pass out.

When Noctis finishes lining both eyes, he gently smudges them with his finger. Then he leans back, nodding slowly. “Not bad.”

“Yeah?” Prompto regains the ability to breathe and uses it to take one last drag, while Noctis pulls out his phone to take a picture. 

“See? You look cool,” he says, passing it to Prompto. And the eyeliner _does_ look pretty good. Not as good as it does on Noctis, but then, nobody looks as good as Noctis. 

“Thanks, buddy.”

“You need to get your own, though,” Noctis mumbles as he lights his next smoke. “I’m not doing your makeup every day.”

Prompto just laughs and shakes his head. If they did that, he doesn’t think he could survive high school.

⁂

With a noisy slurp, Noctis finishes his drink, angling the straw to get every drop out of the crushed ice. Across from him, Prompto leans on one elbow, resting his chin in his hand. He’s been unusually quiet, staring at the middle of the table practically the whole time they’ve been at the diner. He picks up a fry and doesn't eat it. 

  


“Hey.” Noctis kicks his foot under the table. “You gonna tell me what’s up?”

Prompto looks up at him and sniffs. It’s then that Noctis notices the red around his eyes, like he’s been crying. In a softer voice, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Prompto starts to force a smile, but quickly drops it again. “I mean—I’m the one who broke up with _him_.”

_Oh._ He dumped his boyfriend, then. That’s great news, but Noctis can’t let on how happy this makes him. He really didn’t like the guy, and it’s not because he’s jealous. Noctis just got a bad vibe from him. He takes a deep breath and reaches across the table to squeeze Prompto’s arm. “That sucks, dude. Sorry it didn’t work out.” 

“Yeah,” Prompto sighs. He eats a piece of lettuce that Noctis threw on his plate earlier. “I just—I feel so _stupid_.”

_“Why?”_ Noctis mumbles, mouth full of cold fries. 

“Because, I thought somebody actually liked _me_ , but it turns out—” His voice catches and he takes in a shaky breath. “Turns out he just wanted something. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but . . .” 

Noctis feels a twisting in his chest. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that this might have something to do with him. “Do you . . . wanna talk about it?” 

_“Heh.”_ Prompto looks down and doesn’t say anything for a moment. “It’s kinda funny, actually.” 

“Yeah?”

He puts his hands over his face and Noctis can’t tell if he’s crying or laughing until he pulls them away. “Okay, so. I don’t know if I mentioned this, but he plays Outskirts.” 

Noctis nods. Prompto _had_ mentioned he was into that shooter, along with several other details about the guy that Noctis didn’t especially want to hear. (He listened anyway, though, because that’s what best friends are for.) “Did you dump him for being a noob?” he teases. 

“ _No_ , I dumped him because I saw him posting in this one Outskirts server—I guess he didn’t know I was in the same server—anyway, he was saying some _shit_.” 

“What was it?” Noctis eats another fry.

“He—” Prompto laughs. “Okay, this is 100 percent true, I promise. He was asking if anybody would want to buy the prince’s used gym clothes.”

Noctis leans back, tilting his head, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. It’s too ridiculous. _“What?”_

“Yeah! I know! Noct! He was gonna steal your shit and sell it to freaks on the internet!” 

"How—how much did he think he could get?” Noctis laughs. “Could I be making bank, selling my dirty socks?”

“ _Maybe?!_ I have no idea— _Noct_ ,” Prompto whines, collapsing onto the table with his head in his arms. “I really thought he _liked_ me.” 

“I know, I’m sorry.” Noctis strokes his hair. “But, if it makes you feel any better, _I_ like you.”

“Thanks Noct,” Prompto sighs. “I like you, too.”

Noctis knows it’s not the same.

⁂

It’s a school night, but Prompto and Noctis are not staying in and finishing their homework, like usual. They’re perched on a retaining wall in an alley behind a bar, trying to stay out of the way of the musicians loading in for a show that is definitely _not_ all-ages. Prompto’s going to be taking promo shots for a band from their school—he knows the drummer through his friend Cami—so he got a special wristband. Noctis, on the other hand, will have to sneak in, but he probably prefers it that way.

They’re waiting outside for the band to go on, while an undercover Crownsguard officer smokes cigarettes an awkwardly short distance away. Cami pulls a joint out of a repurposed mint tin and hands it to Noctis, who accepts with a graceful nod. When the joint comes around to Prompto, he shakes his head. “I’m good with this,” he says, pulling a flask out of his pocket. He takes a swig of vodka, wincing at the burn. Then he coughs and offers some to Noctis.

“No thanks,” he huffs.

Prompto shrugs and looks at Cami.

“Gimme,” she says, grabbing the flask. “ _Blech!_ Where did you get this swill?”

“Home.” Prompto snatches it back. “Sorry my parents don’t buy good enough booze to please your refined palate, _Camelia_.” 

Her expression gets even more sour at that. “Yuck, please don’t. I hate that I’m named after that sellout.” 

Prompto has no idea what she’s talking about, so he looks at Noctis.

“Camelia Claustra,” he says, passing the joint back to Cami, “right?”

She nods, wrinkling her nose, but Prompto’s still confused.

“She’s the First Secretary of Accordo,” Noctis explains. “Used to be some kind of a resistance fighter a long time ago, but now she’s, like, cooperating more with the Niflheim Empire.” 

“ _Oh_. Shit.” He scratches the back of his head. “Sorry, Cami. I didn’t know.”

“No biggie,” she croaks through a puff of smoke. 

It’s amazing how much stuff Noctis knows about world politics. Sometimes, Prompto forgets that he’s going to be king one day. They don’t really talk about it much, and whenever they’re together, Noctis just seems like a regular kid. Prompto forgets that he’s important to way more people than just him, and that someday he’s going to be too busy to hang out. Someday, he’s going to get married to another really important person, and Prompto will cry at the wedding because it won’t be him—like in some terrible movie. He takes another swig from his flask and tries not to think about this anymore.

Just then, their classmate appears at the open door. “Hey guys! We’re going on in ten!”

“Cool! Be right there!” Prompto calls back.

As they walk through the back door, he and Cami proudly display their green wristbands to anyone who might be looking, and Noctis keeps his hands in his pockets, nonchalant as always. Nobody questions him, or the undercover officer with his excellent mohawk.

Noctis heads for the back of the room, while Prompto takes his position at the side of the stage. He scans the crowd and sees a few more of their classmates. The room is filling up quickly with people and the chaotic buzz of voices.

Then the band takes the stage. The frontman shouts, “One! Two! Three! Four!” and they launch into some good, simple punk rock. It’s just guitar, drums, bass, and yelling, and Prompto is absolutely loving it. He gets some good shots, then makes his way to the front, enduring a few jabs and kicks while he holds his camera up, out of the way of the pit. 

During a lull before the last song, the frontman offers him a hand up onto the stage, and he takes it. The frontman announces, “Our photographer, everyone!” and a bunch of people cheer. Prompto sees Noctis smiling at him from all the way in the back. He waves and feels like a supreme dork. 

The last song is intense, and there’s an infectious energy in the room. When the crowd demands an encore, Prompto gets it in his head that he should crowd-surf. The room is packed and he’s already on stage. When will he ever have this chance again? 

After stashing his camera behind some guitar cases, he dives backwards. The first thing he feels is panic. Who does he think he is? He’s not a rock star. He doesn’t mean _anything_ to these people. They could just drop him on the floor, or worse. Amazingly, they don’t. Next, he feels light—giddy and on the edge of tears as he floats on the sea of strange hands. Finally, he hears a familiar laugh and feels his best friend’s arms close around him as he falls to the floor. Noctis doesn’t let go for a few heartbeats—probably because Prompto just knocked the wind out of him.

“Hey,” Prompto laughs as he rolls off of Noctis and onto the floor.

Sitting up and catching his breath, Noctis smiles back at him. “Hey.” 

When Noctis stands to help him up, Prompto keeps hold of his hand and pulls him away from the wall. The Crownsguard officer might be rolling his eyes, but Prompto doesn’t let it get to him. He just crowd surfed! He’s invincible! Besides, the band is still playing, and the music is fucking great. 

“C’mon, dude!” he laughs. “Let’s dance!”

⁂

In the drying rack next to the sink at the Argentum house, there’s one plate, one bowl, one cup, and one set of silverware. Noctis wonders if this family ever eats meals together. Maybe their schedules don’t match up.

“Sorry about the wait,” Prompto says, bouncing down the stairs. “Let’s go hunt some garulas!”

“Didn’t you say they had an old school Beast Frenzy machine now? I wanna play that. Wreck some buildings.”

“Oh—just a sec, sorry.” Prompto opens the freezer, pulls out a small container of something brown and moves it to the fridge. “My dad made this lentil soup last week—really good. Just gotta defrost it.”

Noctis doesn’t even try to hide his disgust. “ _Uh_ , enjoy.”

“Dude—” Prompto narrows his eyes. “I wasn’t offering you any.” Then he smiles, tying his shoes, and says, “If you wanna grab dinner later, I’ll just eat it tomorrow.”

They leave the house and make it about half a block down the sidewalk before a Crownsguard officer steps out of her car and begins following them. She’s in civilian clothes, but the black car must make it obvious, because Prompto looks over his shoulder and waves.

“Don’t—” Noctis grabs his wrist, pulling his hand down. “Don’t wave at them!” 

“You’re so _mean_ , Noct,” Prompto laughs, bumping him with his shoulder—hard enough to put him off-balance. Steadying himself, Noctis realizes that he’s still awkwardly holding onto Prompto’s wrist. It would be so easy to loosen his grip and slide his hand into Prompto’s, slotting their fingers together. His heart starts pounding, and he lets go.

“They’re supposed to be undercover,” Noctis whisper-yells. “Don’t blow her cover.”

_“Fine.”_

They come upon a fat, orange cat lying in the middle of the sidewalk, soaking up the sun. Both of them crouch down to pet him.

“This is Lyle,” Prompto says, rubbing the cat’s fluffy white belly.

“Hey, Lyle.” Noctis scratches him between the ears and looks back to see that the officer has also stopped, pretending to tie her shoe. 

Prompto pulls a baggie of treats out of his jacket pocket and drops a few on the sidewalk. He’s clearly not the only person in the neighborhood who’s feeding this cat. 

They continue on their way and after a few minutes, Prompto grabs his arm and whispers, “Look! Look!” 

When Noctis turns around, he sees the officer crouched down, petting Lyle. _“See!”_ Prompto squeals. “Crownsguard! They’re just like us!” 

Noctis makes a noncommittal humming noise, and Prompto elbows him. “That’s why you should be friendlier to them.” 

“Try having a 24/7 security detail and see how friendly you feel,” Noctis mutters. He immediately regrets it when Prompto’s shoulders slump.

“I dunno,” Prompto says softly. “Doesn’t sound that bad to me, actually.” 

He must get so lonely, with his parents always working crazy hours and leaving on business trips all the time. He’s the last person Noctis should be complaining to about stuff like this. Putting an arm around his shoulder, Noctis says, “Stick with me and you can hang out with all the Crownsguard you want.” 

“Okay, deal!” Prompto lights up again, flinging his own arm around Noctis. And even though Noctis thinks his heart might burst out of his chest, they walk like that the rest of the way to the arcade.

⁂

As a storm rages outside, Prompto tries to focus on his game, but keeps messing up the combos. Then there’s a burst of lightning, followed by a terrible thunderclap, and the screen goes dark. He holds his controller and stares at the black screen for a moment, unwilling to accept the reality of a power outage. Then he screams, _“Fuuuuuuuuuck!”_

It doesn’t matter that it’s almost midnight. He’s the only one in the house.

Now, without any competing noises, Prompto can really hear the howling wind. He slides off the couch and pulls his knees to his chest, curling up into a ball. He’s considering crawling into the closet like he used to do as a kid, when he gets a text from Noctis.

  
**NOCT:** Hey you ok?  
**NOCT:** Bad storm  


It makes him feel good that Noctis is checking on him. He doesn’t have to do that— especially because it’s late, and he’s probably tired from school and training.

  
**PROMPTO:** I’m fine  
**PROMPTO:** Bet power will come back soon  
**NOCT:** Your power out?  
**NOCT:** Shit  
**PROMPTO:** Oh just here?  
**PROMPTO:** RIP my leftovers  


If it’s just Prompto’s neighborhood that’s affected, he’s less confident that they’ll fix it quickly. He’d better avoid opening the refrigerator or freezer.

There’s another loud crack and he actually whimpers to himself. It’s embarrassing, even though there’s nobody around to hear. _Stop being such a wuss, for fuckssake._ It occurs to him that it might be easier to be brave if he moved away from the window, so he grabs a blanket and his phone and relocates to a hallway.

  
**NOCT:** I looked it up and it’s everything south of downtown  
**NOCT:** Says they’re working on it.  
**PROMPTO:** Ok  
**PROMPTO:** Thanks Noct  


He’s slightly reassured, but there’s only so much the power company can do while the weather is still so bad.

  
**NOCT:** Are you going to sleep soon?  


Prompto knows he won’t be able to sleep through this. There’s no point in even trying.

  
**PROMPTO:** Dunno  
**NOCT:** I’m up if you wanna play Pocket Beasts  


There’s an idea. Prompto runs to his room to get his handheld, and it’s almost fully charged.

  
**PROMPTO:** Ok!  
**NOCT:** Sweet  
**NOCT:** I’ll destroy you  
**PROMPTO:** You wish  


They play games until just after 3:00am, when Prompto notices that he can’t hear the storm anymore. He gets up and looks out the window. The street is quiet. A couple of branches have fallen, and a recycling bin tipped over, but he doesn’t see any major damage.

  
**PROMPTO:** I think it’s over  
**PROMPTO:** Dude it’s 3am!  
**NOCT:** So?  
**PROMPTO:** Bedtime  
**NOCT:** Ok goodnight!  
**PROMPTO:** Goodnight  
**PROMPTO:** And thanks  
**NOCT:** Np  


The power’s not back on yet, but Prompto’s too tired to worry about it. He crawls into bed, shivering, and rubs his feet together under the blankets. He imagines Noctis cozy under his own comforter, finally getting to sleep after _so many hours_. He stayed up just so Prompto wouldn’t feel alone, and it worked. The anxious knot that had been twisting around in his guts earlier is finally gone, and in its place is something much nicer. He drifts off in the early morning stillness, filled with warmth and gratitude for his amazing best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally stole MT's method of naming the Eos equivalents of our world's video games. (Except Assassin's Creed, of course.)


	2. Second Year

“Hey—Prompto, right?” 

He shuts his locker and turns around to see two girls from his class whose names he can’t remember. “Yeah . . . ?” 

“Aren’t you friends with Prince Noctis?” asks the girl in pigtails.

“Uh, yeah!” Prompto puts on a smile and scans the room. He can already tell this conversation isn’t going to be much fun, and his best friend is nowhere to be found.

Another student pushes past him to get to the lockers, so he takes a few steps out of the way. The girls cluster around him again. 

“So . . .” Pigtails looks at the other girl, who hasn’t said anything, but her face is starting to turn red. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and Prompto catches a glimpse of her bracelet. It looks designer. Expensive. 

“We were _wondering_ . . .” Pigtails says, elbowing Rich Girl, who blurts out, “Wh-what kind of dessert? Does he like?”

_“Oh.”_ Prompto chews on his lip. It’s pretty obvious that at least one of these girls has a crush on Noctis and they’re looking for intel. He can’t blame them—he also has a crush on Noctis. 

On the one hand, if he answers their questions, Noctis might get some delicious, home-baked goods, which he would then share with Prompto—not that he should be eating that kind of thing. On the other hand, the idea of him potentially going out with somebody else really fucking hurts, and Prompto doesn’t want to do anything to make that scenario more likely. 

Finally, he says: “Noct likes lots of desserts.” It’s mostly true. At least, he’s way less picky about dessert than any other kind of food. 

“Great!” Pigtails bounces on her toes. “You should make the carrot cake cupcakes, like we talked about!” 

Rich Girl quickly nods, then the two scurry off, waving and thanking Prompto for his time. As he watches them leave, he feels just a little guilty. He’s also concerned that he’ll end up with way more castoff treats than he bargained for. 

Walking out of the locker bay, another classmate falls into step alongside him. “I bet you get that a lot,” she says, keeping her voice down. They don’t have any classes together, but Prompto’s seen her around the art room. She has a cool nose ring.

He shrugs. “I don’t know if it’s a lot?”

“Must be annoying.” 

“I mean, way more people talk to me because they like Noct than, you know, _me_ , but I’m single too, people!” He laughs and clutches his chest. 

She holds out her hand. “Well, I’m Delphina, and we should hang out sometime.”

This stops him in his tracks. “ _Oh_ . . . Really?” 

“ _Really_. Here. . .” She writes something in her notebook, then rips out the page for him. “Just DM me sometime, okay?”

“O-Okay.” Prompto glances over the social media handles scrawled on the paper, unsure of what to do next.

“Gotta run—see you later?” She tosses a smile over her shoulder before rushing off down the hallway.

“Yeah, ok! Bye!” 

At first, Prompto feels pretty good about what just happened, but it isn’t long before reality sets in again. This girl was way too cute to be interested in him. It’s more likely that she’s just trying a different tactic to get close to Noctis. He looks at the paper in his hand and briefly considers trashing it, but shoves it in his bag instead. What the hell—maybe he’ll message her anyway. 

It’s then, just seconds before class is supposed to start, that his best friend finally comes ambling in his direction. 

“Morning,” Noctis yawns.

“Morning, sunshine!” Prompto singsongs, before smacking his butt to hurry him along. Noctis _almost_ looks annoyed. 

“Specs made me another pastry. You’ll like this one.”

“Can’t wait!” Prompto grins. He’ll just skip yearbook and go for another run after school—totally worth it, for Ignis Scientia’s baking. That dude sets the bar so high. 

Prompto feels bad for those girls. They have no idea what they’re up against.

⁂

“Leftovers are in the fridge—” Ignis says, one foot out the door already, “—and I nearly forgot: you aren’t needed at tomorrow’s meeting. I can brief you afterwards.”

“Yeah?” Noctis looks up, relieved. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Ignis gives him a small smile and points to the notebook sitting on the couch next to him. “Are you going to respond to Lady Lunafreya this evening?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Just . . . figuring out what I want to say.”

“I’ll leave you to it then. Goodnight.”

“‘Night.”

When Ignis shuts the door behind him, the apartment is silent and still. After a couple of breaths, Noctis picks up the notebook, running his hands over the embossed cover. He flips to the first blank page. 

_‘Dear Luna,’_ he begins, as usual. _‘School was okay this week. I went fishing in the park on Saturday and caught one fish, but I threw it back because it was really small. I’m going to try this other pond next time, if I can talk Prompto into going with me. It’s kind of a long way on the train.’_

Remembering the stickers he bought for Luna, he gets up to search his room and finds them under the bed in a bag of comics. He lays on his stomach with the notebook in front of him and decorates the corners of the page with brightly-colored fruits before continuing. 

_‘I thought you would like these fruit stickers, so I’m sending the rest of the package.’_

He turns the page and taps the back of his pen against the notebook, considering his next words. 

_‘I hope you won’t mind if I ask you for some advice. You always do what’s right and take care of others. I wonder if you could tell me how to—’_

He lifts his pen, thinking about the last time he saw his friend—her expression as he and his dad ran away, escaping Fenestala Manor and leaving her behind. She was a picture of determined grace, framed in chaos and fire, and she was just a little girl. _How can I be more like you, Luna?_ he thinks, but that would probably just make her laugh. It’s not specific enough.

He thinks of Ignis, who was just at his apartment for hours, cooking for him and helping him with his laundry when that’s not even his job. He thinks of his dad, who was too busy to meet for lunch the other day, and how Noctis was so wrapped up in being upset about the cancelled plans that he hasn’t even called him back yet. He thinks about Prompto, who’s the best friend anyone could ever hope to have, and who seems to need Noctis just as much as Noctis needs him. He thinks about how close he’s come to ruining it for both of them by confessing his ridiculous crush.

  


Noctis writes, _‘be less selfish,’_ and wishes he had a sticker of a lobster or something to add in there, for the pun, but he doesn’t. He concludes, _‘I hope that you are doing well. Your friend, Noctis.’_

He shuts the notebook and rolls over onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. Umbra will probably be around soon to pick it up. Somehow, he always seems to know when it’s time.

⁂

Every second that Prompto spent over the past year scouring Insomnia thrift stores was completely worth it. He could not be happier with his prom getup. It’s a rhinestone-studded, vintage white rodeo suit, intricately embroidered with lightning bolts and clouds, flowers and animals in a whole rainbow of colors. He also found the perfect accessories to go with it—a bolo tie and shiny cactuar belt buckle. All he’s missing is a hat. Otherwise, he looks like a 710’s garulaboy or a psychedelic rocker. None of this stuff even cost him that much—people in the Crown City are not that adventurous when it comes to fashion, but their loss is Prompto’s gain.

He notices more than a few people looking in his direction as he sits alone at the photo booth, waiting for Noctis to get back from the bathroom—he had to go fix his hair after wearing the gorilla mask for some test shots. While Prompto’s sitting there, a guy from their class, Tiberius, lumbers over. Years ago, Prompto used to be scared of him—before it became obvious that he’d never follow through on his many threats to beat Prompto’s ass. Now he just feels sort of sorry for the guy.

“Having fun at the _prom_ , Prom?” Tiberius smirks.

_This was unavoidable_ , he thinks, plastering on a fake smile. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days? The prom-prom?”

Tiberius blinks at him a couple of times. “No, you don’t get it. It’s ‘cause your name is _Prom_ -pto, and this is the _prom_.” 

When he sees Noctis approaching, Prompto’s smile is genuine. “That’s _hilarious_!” 

“Yeah, we’ve never heard that one before,” Noctis deadpans, taking his seat and pulling out his phone.

“Oh, hi Prince Noctis!” Tiberius stammers. “I didn’t know you were on yearbook.”

“I’m not,” Noctis mutters, not looking up.

Prompto tilts to the side, bumping shoulders to communicate, _so glad you’re back, buddy,_ and a smile flickers at the edge of Noctis’s lips.

Meanwhile, Tiberius just stands there, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

_“So . . .”_ Prompto looks up at him. “You want a photo or something?”

“Yeah.”

“Just . . . by yourself?” 

“You see anybody else here?!”

“ _Ohh_ -kay . . .” Prompto holds up his hands in surrender and takes his position behind the camera. This asshole certainly doesn’t deserve it, but he tries to make the photos look good—he has a reputation to uphold.

Returning to his seat, Prompto scans the crowd. Most people are actually dancing, which is a surprise. One exception is a group of girls leaning against a wall nearby, obviously staring at Noctis. It must be because he looks so hot in his tux. 

“Dude,” Prompto whispers into his ear. “All the girls are checking you out tonight.” 

Noctis winces. “Not interested.”

“But—but, if you dance with one of them, another one of her friends will have to dance with me. Those are like, the rules of prom. Right?”

“Don’t you have to sit here?” Noctis snaps, and Prompto backs off slightly.

Softening his voice, he says, “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to sit here all night and suffer with me.” To his immense relief, Noctis smiles at that. 

“ _Yeah_ , I do! I’m your best friend. That’s kinda my job.” 

“How’d you get stuck with that gig?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Noctis laughs and shoves him hard enough to make his chair wobble. Then Prompto over-corrects, careening towards Noctis and sending both of them and their chairs to the floor. They end up a laughing, groaning pile of limbs; Noctis sprawled on his back and Prompto draped over him. 

“Sorry, dude,” Prompto gasps, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. He hovers for a breath, as Noctis looks up at him with a funny expression—a particular smile that he doesn’t get to see very often. 

Prompto can’t help but stare at those slightly-parted lips, and he’s overcome with the reckless, stupid notion that it would be so easy to kiss Noctis right now—and _gods_ does he want to. If it doesn’t go well, he could just apologize and say that the magic of prom night was getting to him. Maybe Noctis would think it’s funny. Or _maybe_ he would actually be into it. There have been a few times, like this, when Prompto's wondered.

His heart is pounding. He needs to make a decision right _now_ , because it’s starting to get weird. Noctis licks his lips, and Prompto thinks it might be a sign. He takes a deep breath. 

Then, at the sound of a totally fake cough from somewhere behind him, he jumps to his feet. 

“Be right there!” he calls to the couple waiting for their photo. “We’re just having a little too much fun back here—sorry ‘bout that!” 

He gives Noctis a hand up, then helps him brush the dust off his all-black outfit. Noctis stands there, shaking his head and stifling laughter. He picks a rhinestone off of his lapel and says, “I’m keeping this as a souvenir.”

Once Prompto’s heart rate is somewhat under control, he gets back to work. 

“Okay, guys,” he says, returning to the table. “Grab whatever accessories you want and stand over there.” 

As he takes their picture, Prompto silently thanks his classmates for showing up when they did. Just one second later, and he could have made the biggest mistake of his life.

⁂

“Hey, Noct,” Gladio shouts from across the training hall. “Umbra’s here. Let’s take five.”

“Yeah, okay,” Noctis pants, still catching his breath from the tricky maneuver they’d been practicing. He grabs a towel to wipe off his face and neck, and Umbra trots over. 

“Hey, boy.” Noctis smiles at the dog and pats the fur on his chest, then he holds out a hand for Umbra to give him some paw. “Good boy,” he coos, scratching the dog’s scruff. 

He pulls the red notebook out of its satchel and opens it to Luna’s newest entry:

>   
>  _Dearest Noctis:_
> 
> _Thank you (Berry ) much for the stickers, I adore them! You have inspired me to make a fruit salad, which I am enjoying in the garden as I write this. The weather has been quite warm lately, and it’s so refreshing. _
> 
> _Regarding your request for advice, I must say that I think you give me too much credit and yourself not enough. I do not think it fair to say that you are selfish, Noctis._
> 
> _If there is anything in particular that is troubling you, I hope that you feel you can confide in me. I am more than willing to listen and it would be my sincere pleasure to help and support you in any way that I can. I do not mean to pressure you to tell me more than is comfortable. I only ask that you please keep this in mind._
> 
> _All my love,_
> 
> _Lunafreya_

His dear friend’s words are as inviting as a warm blanket, but Noctis knows he shouldn’t take her up on this offer. Luna already has enough to worry about as the oracle—she’s the rightful ruler of an occupied country, a healer to people afflicted with the scourge, and she has other religious duties that he doesn’t fully understand. Her time is so precious, and Noctis shouldn’t waste it with his dumb personal shit. The problem is, if he doesn’t tell her something, she’ll definitely worry, and he’ll be adding to her burdens anyway. She just knows him too well.

He looks up to see Gladio and Umbra playing tug of war over a towel. Gladio lets go and the dog topples over, leaving his belly open to vigorous scratches and pets. He wiggles around on the floor, mouth hanging open in a happy doggie smile.

“Hey Gladio? Can we just call it for today? I’m gonna write Luna back now.”

“Sure thing, Princess.” Gladio gives Umbra one last pat and rises to his feet. “Make sure to send my regards.” 

“Will do.”

He heads to the locker room, leaving Noctis and Umbra alone in the cavernous training hall. The dog hops up onto the bench and rests his head in Noctis’s lap, so he can pet him while he considers what to write. 

Leaning back against the wall, Noctis looks up at the arched windows, and the light falling prettily onto the marble. Then he turns back to the notebook.

_‘Dear Luna, Thank you so much for your kind words. I really appreciate it. Before I say anything else, Gladio asked me to send his regards. We just had a training session.’_

That was the easy part. 

He takes a deep breath and lets it out again. He pets Umbra, snoozing in his lap. 

_‘I’m having a hard time setting aside my feelings for someone, even though I know that a relationship isn’t possible. This person’s friendship is important to me, so I don’t want to do anything to threaten that. I also know that because of my responsibilities, we could never have a future, even if they felt the same way. This is why I wanted to ask you for advice about how to stop being selfish. What I mean to ask is how to stop feeling so sorry for myself, so that I can live up to my responsibilities and so I can be a better friend.’_

There’s something freeing about putting all of this into words to Luna, even moreso than writing in his own journal. It’s because he knows she can relate better than most, though her situation is far worse than his. And even if there isn’t anything that either of them can do about it, it’s comforting to think that she’ll be able to understand him just a little bit better—that she might be able to support him with this, like she has with so many other things. 

He ends with, _‘Thank you again for offering to listen. It does help me a lot. Your friend, Noctis.’_

⁂

The ramen joint is way more crowded than usual, but Prompto uses the tried and true strategy of hovering near some people who look like they’re about to leave. It may be a little awkward, but it works. He thanks them profusely when they get up, just in time for Noctis to finish ordering and join him at the table.

Prompto swivels in his stool, grinning, and Noctis peers back at him through his bangs. 

“I am _so_ hungry,” Noctis says. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”

“Dude—I know!” 

As if on cue, Prompto’s stomach rumbles. He’s been waiting all day, too—he skipped lunch to prepare.

The server plops down two huge, steaming bowls, and they don’t waste any time before digging in. It’s fucking delicious—rich and salty with just the right amount of spice, perfectly chewy noodles, and fresh vegetables on top. It’s almost _too_ good. As he’s enjoying another spoonful of broth, he starts to worry.

“What kind of broth is this? I thought I got veggie.” 

Noctis slurps up a noodle, shaking his head. “No way! Only the good stuff here.”

_Shit._ If he eats this, he’ll have to make up for it tomorrow. Skipping breakfast should make track practice in the morning _real_ fun.

It’s not fair. Noctis can look perfect without even trying, so he’s always suggesting that they go places with heavy, greasy, food. He has no idea how much work Prompto has to put in, to watch his diet—to make sure he’s good enough to spend time with Noctis. Though, that’s because Prompto doesn’t really talk about that kind of stuff with him.

Tonight, he figures he may as well eat this ramen and sort it out later. Maybe he can still eat an egg in the morning. He’ll have to look up calorie counts when Noctis isn’t around to ask him what he’s doing. 

“Hey!” Noctis smacks Prompto’s arm, and he looks up from the bowl where he’d been staring. “Do you not like it?”

“No! I mean—I love it. It’s great!” Prompto takes another bite.

“Okay good.” Noctis smiles before shoving another wad of noodles into his mouth. _“Becuf I luff thif plafe.”_

⁂

Steady and calm, Noctis sets his eyes on his target, takes a few quick steps, then releases the ball. It flies down the center of the lane, just where he wants it.

_“Woohoo! Strike!”_ Prompto cheers.

Noctis spins around, smiling wide. As they cross paths at the ball return, Prompto gives him a high five. 

When he gets back to his seat, Umbra is waiting for him and eyeing their nachos. Noctis crouches down to pet the dog and gives him a chip. It’s funny to watch him chew with his whole mouth—magical or not, he’s still a dog and doesn’t have the right kind of teeth.

_“Ah, shit!”_ Prompto shouts, and Noctis looks up to see the ball rolling down the gutter. 

“Don’t be so impatient,” he calls. “Take like, one second to line up your shot.” 

“I _know_ , I _know_.”

“You’re not as bad at this as you think, dude,” Noctis laughs.

“Gee, thanks.” Prompto makes a face as he retrieves his ball.

Noctis turns his attention back to Umbra, scratching the fur on his chest. “Okay, boy, lemme get that notebook.” 

He’s nervous, but excited to see what Luna has to say after his last entry. As it turns out, there’s a lot:

>   
>  _Dearest Noctis:_
> 
> _I am truly grateful that you feel comfortable enough to open up to me about your feelings. I know that it isn’t an easy thing._
> 
> _You did not mention the name of the person who you wrote about, but I think I have an idea of who it might be. I hope that it will not be overstepping to tailor my advice to you with this in mind._
> 
> _First, I want to express how much it pains me that you are not able to live fully and openly, or that you feel you cannot share your life with the person of your choosing. I think I can relate to that feeling, though I know that our individual circumstances are unique._
> 
> _It is true that the gravity of our roles necessitates certain personal concessions. However, that doesn’t mean you should not pursue happiness in your life, or that you should not pursue love. This is a precious and unique time, Noctis, and you should cherish it._
> 
> _Based on all that you have told me about your friend, it is clear that this person lifts your spirits and makes life more enjoyable for you. I can tell that it is a beautiful friendship. I also think it has the potential to blossom into a wonderful romantic relationship, but this can only happen if you tell them how you feel._
> 
> _I would not be surprised to learn that your friend reciprocates your feelings, but of course, I cannot know their heart. Even if they do not feel the same way that you do, I trust that the foundation of your friendship is strong enough to withstand a difficult conversation. This is why I encourage you to take a chance, for both your sakes. If you do, I hope you will share with me how it goes._
> 
> _I wish you and your friend the best of luck and all the happiness in the world._
> 
> _All my love,_
> 
> _Lunafreya_  
> 

By the time Noctis reaches the end, his hands are shaking. He realizes that he’s been holding his breath and lets it out all at once. Umbra hops up onto the seat next to him and licks his face.

“Thanks, bud,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around the dog to scratch his neck.

He looks up just in time to catch sight of Prompto’s bowling ball whizzing down the lane and hitting the center pin. It would have been a strike, if he hadn’t wiffed it the first time.

“Did you _see_ that?!” Prompto squeals, pumping his fists.

_“Nice!”_ Noctis hops to his feet and gives Prompto another high five. “I’m still gonna kick your ass, though.”

He grabs his ball and makes his way into the starting position, as he considers what Luna had said. 

Noctis knows his childhood friend very well, and he knows that she’s an optimist. It makes perfect sense as a survival skill—she’s been through so much and has to keep going. It also means that she’s definitely under-estimating the risk that comes with confessing his feelings to Prompto.

Noctis thinks about how lonely he used to be. For years, Prompto hovered at the edges, fascinating and perplexing Noctis, before suddenly barreling into his life at the start of high school. Now, Noctis has all of these moments of real happiness—moments when he feels like a regular kid, and when he can forget about his responsibilities and his future. He never knew he could have a connection like this with another person, and he doesn’t know what he would do without Prompto. He doesn’t think he could make it. With all of that at stake, he has to be really careful not to mess things up.

He clears his mind, takes a deep breath, and lets the ball go. The clattering of pins is a beautiful sound—it’s a strike.

“ _Holy shit!_ You’re on fire!” Prompto shouts.

Though Luna is very wise, and right about most things, in this instance, she just doesn’t understand. Noctis knows what he’s doing, and he’s going to get through this one on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Anu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anukutti/pseuds/Anukutti) for compiling names and hilarious character descriptions from the Cambridge Latin textbooks and sharing them with the book club server.


	3. Third Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record: they're 18

A loud crack of thunder sends a shiver down Prompto’s spine, and he curses the storm. He’s grateful to be inside this cozy log cabin, though—and to have such a good distraction: Noctis, wriggling underneath him on a patchwork quilt.

_“C’mon,”_ Noctis whispers, grasping at his shoulders and pulling him down into a ferocious kiss. 

Prompto sinks into Noctis, burying fingers in his hair and rolling with him. On his back now, he looks up into flashing blue eyes that contain the whole night sky. The lightning has got nothing on Noctis—the storm should be scared of _him_.

They’re down to their shorts now, but Prompto doesn’t remember stripping. Looking around, he sees flannel shirts and jeans strewn across the floor and draped over the foot of the huge four-poster bed. He lifts his hands to Noctis’s bare chest and takes in a shuddering breath.

Even though they’re in a horror movie, and if they have sex they’ll totally die, Prompto thinks it’s worth it. He’s been waiting for this moment for so long. He just barely opens his mouth to say this, when Noctis sits back and says, “ _Shit_. Isn’t that loot drop tonight?” 

There’s a sudden chorus of _thuds_ against the roof, so they hop out of bed and run to the window. Bright orange crates are parachuting down from the sky and piling up on the forest floor. Then a face appears on the other side of the glass: it’s the killer, wearing a catcher's mask and holding a bat. 

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Prompto mutters. “The catcher doesn’t bat.”

“He’s too powerful.” Noctis grabs Prompto’s arm. _“Run!”_

They make a bolt for the door, but it’s stuck. Prompto pulls and pulls with all his might.

“Hurry!” Noctis shouts. “He’s breaking in!”

The windowpane shatters just as the door comes unstuck. It swings open and they both tumble through, landing on the floor of a dark metal hallway. Drip-drop sounds echo all around them.

They follow a distant flickering light into a control room with a flashing terminal. Prompto can’t make sense of any of the buttons, and Noctis seems just as lost.

“Warning,” a robotic voice drones from a speaker near the ceiling. “Oxygen level is red. Commence oxygen conservation measures immediately.” 

A look of panic crosses his best friend’s face, but Prompto knows exactly what to do. Grabbing him by the shoulders, he says, “Noct, If you want to live, kiss me now.”

Noctis nods, and Prompto leans in. They cling to one another, hands and lips moving with a desperation that comes from more than just their fear of dying in space. They don’t stop kissing until the alarm shuts off and the robot reports, “Oxygen levels, rising.”

Prompto grabs Noctis’s hand, pulling him back into the hallway. By the dim light of buzzing fluorescent bulbs overhead, they step around crates and past spent med-packs and freeze-dried rations until they reach a circular hatch. It creaks open and they step through, out onto a sunny beach. 

The sand is warm under Prompto’s toes as he walks towards the glittering blue sea. The water matches the sky, where seagulls circle, slow and graceful above their heads. The surf rolls in and the foam tickles his feet.

He hears Noctis approaching from behind, then feels arms wrap around and pull him close. Noctis kisses his neck and presses his chest to Prompto’s back. Prompto can feel him vibrating—is he _purring_?

Turning around, he sees that Noctis has cat ears and a gently swaying tail. This is _by far_ the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Then Noctis grins, flashing sharp incisors, and Prompto thinks he might combust.

They take their time, savoring one another, while Noctis brushes his sharp nails across Prompto’s skin. Then, to Prompto’s amazement (since cats hate water) Noctis drops to his knees in the wet sand. Looking up with a mischievous smile, he hooks a single claw into the waistband of Prompto’s shorts.

“Is this actually happening?” Prompto gasps, just before his alarm goes off and jolts him awake.

⁂

It’s the weekend, but Noctis still forces himself out of bed after silencing his phone. Prompto slept over last night after their horror movie marathon, and he doesn’t want to keep him waiting. He knows from experience that Prompto won’t eat breakfast without him, even though he’s well aware that he should help himself to frozen waffles and fruit. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and pulls on a t-shirt and some pajama pants. Then he shuffles out of his room.

Prompto’s in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water and looking like he just got back from a run. Noctis isn’t surprised, but he’s still impressed. They were up pretty late.

“Morning,” Noctis mutters on his way to the couch. He realizes that he’s more tired than he thought he was. Maybe it’s not rude to go back to sleep if he’s at least in the same room. 

“Hey Noct.” Prompto gives him a wobbly smile, then turns abruptly to the bookshelf, grabbing a comic. “Oh, cool—I didn’t know you had this one.”

“That’s yours. I borrowed it, like . . . last year.”

“Ha! Right, I guess you’ve had it so long that I forgot.” 

“Take it—” Noctis yawns, stretching his arms as far as they’ll go behind his head and arching his back. This makes his shirt ride up above his stomach, and he quickly pulls it back down. When he glances up again, Prompto’s staring at him over the top of his glass. “What?” Noctis asks, and Prompto chokes on his water. 

“Sorry,” he says between coughs, hurrying to the bathroom.

_What’s gotten into him?_ Noctis rolls over to face the back of the couch and closes his eyes. Squeezing a pillow that still smells like Prompto, he drifts back to sleep.

⁂

It’s a slow morning at work, and Prompto’s been listening to the radio while he waits behind the register for customers.

_“—and that’s all for the traffic report.”_

_“Thanks Marcia. We’ve been following the story of Orania Caldus, a member of the Kingsglaive, who petitioned to bring her elderly mother from Cleigne to the Crown City—”_

Prompto’s coworker, Doree, stops straightening the gum and candy display and leans on the counter to listen. “Mind turning that up?”

With a nod, he raises the volume a couple of clicks.

_“—denied. Let’s go now to our correspondent, Theo, for more.”_

_“I spoke to Orania Caldus in the modest home she shares with her two children and their dog, Gogo, the day after they’d received word that the petition was not granted.”_

_“We’re all very disappointed, of course. The kids were really looking forward to seeing their grandma again.”_

At the sound of a child crying in the background, Doree and Prompto share a pained look.

_“What’s next for your family?”_

_“Well, we don’t have much choice. Try to help however we can, from here.”_

_“Before we conclude, I want to say thank you for your service.”_

_“Oh. Well, I’m proud to serve.”_

“Fucking hypocrites,” Doree mutters. “They risk their lives out there, to protect _us_ and the fucking government won’t even make a safe place for their families.”

“Yeah. It’s fucked up.” Prompto turns the volume down again before the sports recap starts.

“Most people have no idea what it’s like out there.”

“Yeah, I’ve never really been outside the wall—just seen pictures.” Prompto’s parents travel a lot for work, and they’ve shown him the ruins just outside Insomnia’s borders, from when King Mors pulled the wall back and all but abandoned the rest of the country. It makes him sick with guilt that he’s safe and comfortable while so many people are losing their homes, losing their loved ones, and losing their lives.

Doree shakes her head. “Me neither. My girlfriend though, she’s a Glaive.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s seen some _shit_.”

“I believe it.”

The manager steps out of the back room with his hands full of coin rolls, and they quickly busy themselves with straightening things. When he reaches the register, he sends Prompto on his lunch break. 

He heads to the farmers market a couple blocks away from the store, hoping the taco truck will be there. At the entrance, there’s a small group of demonstrators with signs that say _‘Open Borders Now!’_ Prompto hesitates, and someone hands him a flyer.

“Emergency action Monday at the Citadel. Hope you can make it!” 

“Thanks, I’ll try.” He smiles and pockets the flyer.

He’s an immigrant to Insomnia himself, but Prompto hasn’t been very politically active, beyond signing petitions online. The idea of protesting right outside the building where his best friend grew up is weird, but it also feels important. Noctis knows what Prompto thinks about this stuff, and he’s sympathetic, but he isn’t in charge yet. The king and the Council are the ones who need to know that the people don’t agree with their restrictive policies.

Maybe he’ll go, even though it makes him nervous, and even though he can’t ask Noctis to go with him. He’ll think about it while he eats his tacos, because he just spotted the truck.

⁂

There’s a rapping at the door, and Noctis shouts “Come in!” from where he’s been lying on the couch, trying to finish the biology reading and texting Prompto. It’s been hours and he hasn’t gotten an answer, which is very distracting.

Ignis enters the apartment looking annoyed—hopefully not at Noctis. “I’m sorry to get here so late,” he huffs, untying his shoes. “Traffic was abysmal, because of the demonstration.”

Noctis hasn't heard anything about this, and his confusion must be obvious because Ignis says, “Ah, there’s a protest outside the Citadel right now, over immigration restrictions.”

“Oh.” He wonders why Prompto didn’t mention anything about it. Usually he pays attention to that kind of thing. 

As his friend hurries to the kitchen, it hits him that the reason Ignis is so stressed is because Noctis hasn’t eaten yet. “Hey—don’t apologize, Specs,” he says. “You don’t even need to be here.”

Ignis narrows his eyes and Noctis quickly adds, “I mean—I’m _glad_ you’re here.”

“I’m happy to be here, especially after the day I’ve had.” He turns to peer into the refrigerator. “I’m in the mood for something simple for dinner. How does pasta with chickatrice sound?”

“Sounds great.”

Abandoning his textbook, Noctis flips on the television to check out what’s going on at the Citadel. The news station has helicopter footage of the huge crowd—they’re filling up the entire plaza and blocking the surrounding streets. The shot changes to a close up of some of the demonstrators. The camera pans slowly across the line of people, pausing at a colorful banner that says _‘Keep Families Together,’_ decorated with kids’ drawings of people and animals and houses and rainbows. Everyone is chanting: “Open borders! Open wall! Our Crown City’s here for all!” 

To his surprise, Noctis recognizes a familiar face in the crowd—it’s Prompto, wearing a beanie and dark green hoodie. It doesn’t look like he’s there with anybody. At first, Noctis is hurt that he didn’t ask him to come along, but thinking about it a little more, he realizes that Prompto was doing him a favor. As the crown prince, there’s no way he could go to a thing like this, and saying that out loud would just make him feel even more awkward and guilty than he already does. 

A cork pops and Noctis looks up to see Ignis pour himself a glass of wine. “I’m going to let that marinade for a bit,” he says.

As Ignis approaches the couch, Noctis considers changing the channel, but it turns out he doesn’t have to. The camera pans away, focusing on another part of the crowd as the talking heads ramble on.

“My, that’s quite a lot of people.” Ignis gestures at the screen with his glass. “What do you think about all this, Noct?” 

Noctis frowns. He pulls his legs up and crosses them. He hugs a pillow. He wonders if he’s allowed to have an opinion about this—or why Ignis would care. “I think . . . I think it’s not really fair if people who work for us can’t bring their families. Wasn’t there a Crownsguard who wanted to bring somebody? Is that what this is for?”

“Kingsglaive.”

“Oh. Right.” 

“Many of them were born outside Insomnia, and perhaps we could open our borders to family members—immediate family, or however the Council might decide to structure it.” He takes a sip of his wine. “But how do you think other Lucians would react? Those who don’t happen to be related to any Glaives?”

“I guess they probably wouldn’t think that’s very fair.” 

“I’m sure they wouldn’t.”

The camera starts moving, and Noctis worries again that Ignis will see Prompto on the screen. He shuts off the television. 

“Why can’t we just let anybody in who wants to come here? What’s the big deal?” He leans back against the arm of the couch and tosses the remote on the floor.

“Resources, for one.” Ignis sets down his glass. “An influx of people to the Crown City from the rest of Lucis, many of whom will likely be unemployed or low income, would stretch the budget of our social services agencies. Though, one could argue that it would be more fair to spread our limited resources amongst a greater number of people—even if it would mean longer waiting lists for affordable housing, overworked service providers, and cuts to all but the most essential services.”

“But . . . why does it have to be that way? Why can’t life be good for everybody?” Noctis feels like an idiot as soon as the words leave his mouth. They’re in the middle of a war. 

Ignis smiles. “Unfortunately, most of our resources are going towards the national defense at the moment. Unless Niflheim stops its aggression, the Council really has no choice but to prioritize the military.” 

“Right,” Noctis says, but it feels wrong to worry so much about the budget when people don’t have what they need to live. 

“And that leads us to another consideration. The Council has been united in its position that strict border controls are necessary to keep the Crystal and the royal family safe. You know better than anyone that the Empire has breached our wall before.” 

Noctis finds a spot on the floor to stare at. He does know. He still has nightmares about it—firelight reflected in a pool of blood, his nanny lying lifeless at his side, the feeling of utter powerlessness. “Still,” he mutters. “It doesn’t seem fair. The people out there beyond the wall . . . they deserve to be safe, too.”

“You’re right,” Ignis breathes, resting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not fair.” After a moment, he says, “I think about this a lot, because I was one of the lucky ones—though it certainly didn’t feel that way at the time.”

Looking up at Ignis, Noctis gets a glimpse of the sadness he carries with him, normally so carefully concealed. He won’t ask for details, but there must have been some kind of special exception to the immigration restrictions for war orphans. Maybe that’s how Prompto got in, too. 

“Well then.” Ignis retrieves his glass and stands. “I’d better finish dinner.”

Noctis picks up his textbook and tries again to do the reading. He doesn’t have any more luck. 

Later that night, after they’ve eaten dinner and Ignis has gone home, Prompto finally texts back.

  
**PROMPTO:** Hey!  
**PROMPTO:** Sorry phone was off I went to a protest  


Noctis releases some of the tension he hadn’t realized he was holding. Prompto isn’t trying to hide this from him, even though he’s heir to the throne. He’s not sure how to respond, though. It would be pretty creepy to say, ‘I know,’ but it also feels weird to keep that from Prompto. He decides to go with vagueness.

  
**NOCT:** Cool  
**NOCT:** Saw it on tv   
**PROMPTO:** Really?  
**PROMPTO:** Did you see me on tv? Lol  
**NOCT:** Actually  
**PROMPTO:** WHAT?  
**NOCT:** Yeah   
**PROMPTO:** DUDE  
**PROMPTO:** How did I look?  


Noctis conjures up an image of Prompto chanting in the crowd. Even in those uncharacteristically plain clothes, he looked bright and fierce and hopeful. He looked absolutely beautiful, but Noctis can’t say that. That would be weird.

  
**NOCT:** Terrible  
**PROMPTO:**!  
**NOCT:** Jk  
**NOCT:** What? You looked cool  
**NOCT:** I’m jealous  
**PROMPTO:** Don’t be  
**PROMPTO:** Took like 2 hrs to get home  
**PROMPTO:** They shut down the train  
**PROMPTO:** Had to take a bus  
**PROMPTO:** In traffic  
**NOCT:** Sucks  
**PROMPTO:** Yeah  
**PROMPTO:** NBD  
**PROMPTO:** If message got across  
**NOCT:** Yeah  
**NOCT:** It did  
**PROMPTO:** Awesome  


Noctis looks out at the countless twinkling lights of his city—behind each illuminated window, another person just trying to get by. There must be some way to open up the borders without making life in Insomnia totally miserable. Sometime before he’s in charge, he’s going to have to figure it out. 

  
**PROMPTO:** Sorry  
**PROMPTO:** Falling asleep  
**PROMPTO:** See you tomorrow?  
**NOCT:** Yeah   
**NOCT:** Night   
**PROMPTO:** Goodnight!  


It’s late, but his mind is still racing. He could finish his homework, but at the moment Noctis is more interested in educating himself about other things. He grabs his laptop to pull up the website for the Insomnia Center for Immigrant Rights and clicks on their resources page. The long list of reports and articles is daunting, but he knows he doesn’t have to get through it all tonight. He makes himself comfortable, opens up the most recent report, and starts reading.

⁂

After all these years of high school, with graduation only weeks away, Prompto is surprised by how many people in their class he still doesn’t know. He could probably only name half the people at this party, and he’d be guessing.

A group of popular kids rented out a space in the basement of a downtown restaurant, and Prompto wanted to come because of the promise of karaoke. Somehow, he persuaded Noctis to join him, though it’s impossible to get him to sing. 

The room is packed, but people are giving them space while they drink cheap beers in a corner booth. Prompto can just barely overhear snippets of their conversations. 

“. . . and send it to Eos Weekly! Who needs college?!” 

“Are you stupid? . . . ‘s illegal. _Very_ . . .”

“. . . undercover. Gotta be.”

“Maybe the waitress?”

Several heads turn to watch as a server collects empty bottles onto a tray before heading back upstairs. 

Prompto catches Noctis’s eye and fails to suppress a giggle. The Crownsguard officer on duty tonight is actually the KJ, who keeps staring daggers at the two of them as they get drunker and drunker. That’s all the officer _can_ do, because if they said anything it would blow their cover. Prompto doesn’t feel too bad though—they get to keep all the tips. 

When Prompto’s next song comes up, Noctis groans. “Why’d you pick _that one_?”

“What? It’s a good song!” He hops to his feet, steadying himself on the table and grinning stupidly. 

Several people hoot and holler as he weaves through the crowd towards the microphone. He would normally be more embarrassed by this attention, even as drunk as he is, but his last song was an absolute banger, and he’s still riding that high. 

Admittedly, this next song is kind of cheesy. It’s from his least favorite album by this band, but it’s perfect for karaoke. He’s also had it stuck in his head a lot lately. 

The slow, steady drums and sparkling guitar riff start up, and there are a few more cheers as people recognize the decades-old chart topper. Way in the back of the room, he sees Noctis frown and cross his arms.

Even though he knows all the words, Prompto focuses on the screen.

**“When you were here before,**

**couldn’t look you in the eye . . .”**

As the chorus approaches, the distortion kicks in and Prompto closes his eyes.

**“I wish I was special.**

**You’re so fuckin’ special—”**

Then he and most of the people in the room belt out in unison: 

**“—but I’m a creep.**

**I’m a weirdo-o-o.**

**What the hell 'am I doin’ here?**

**I don’t belong here . . .”**

Prompto sneaks a glance at Noctis, who isn’t singing along—no surprises, there—then he looks down at the monitor and puts his whole heart into it.

**“I don't care if it hurts.**

**I wanna have control.**

**I want a perfect body.**

**I want a perfect soul . . .”**

As he begins the final chorus, Prompto sings as softly as he can, and the room goes quiet.

**“Whatever makes you happy.**

**Whatever you want . . .”**

When he dares to look up again, Noctis is staring at him with an alarming intensity. That’s when it occurs to him that this might have been a bad idea. 

The song ends with one last, _“I don’t belong here . . .”_ and he lets his voice slowly fade out to riotous applause and cheers. He bows with a dramatic flourish and says, “Tip your KJ!” before handing back the microphone.

As he returns, stumbling, to his seat, several people pat him on the back. Someone hands him a beer and says, “That was awesome. So funny.” 

“Thanks.” He clinks the bottle and takes a swig, but he can feel his insides twisting up. _Funny. Right._

When he plops back into the booth, Noctis puts a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” 

_“Heh.”_ Prompto takes another sip. “You’re right. That song’s dumb.” 

Noctis tilts his head and squints at him. “You’re drunk. ” He grabs the beer from Prompto’s hand and drinks it himself—an astounding show of hypocrisy.

_“Noo!”_ Prompto laughs, slumping into him. “How did that happen?” 

“No idea,” Noctis whispers, wrapping an arm around Prompto so he can nestle in closer. He can feel Noctis’s hot breath against his ear. It tickles as he murmurs, “Prompto. . . you know . . . you’re not . . . you’re—” 

A sudden lurching in his gut warns Prompto that he’s about to be sick. He keels forward, clapping a hand over his mouth, and shoots Noctis a panicked look. 

He's lucky to reach the bathroom in time.

⁂

High school classes seem to be growing more and more boring the closer they get to the end. Noctis just cannot make himself care about historians’ speculations about the details of his ancestors’ lives, so he’s zoning out. If he misses anything important, he can just get it from Prompto, who’s sitting directly in front of him, dutifully taking notes and looking hot, as usual.

His eyes are drawn to a small red spot on the back of Prompto’s neck, and he wonders, with a rush of jealousy, if it’s a hickey. Prompto hasn’t mentioned anybody lately, but it’s not like he shares every little detail of his life. He’s entitled to his privacy, but it hurts to think he’d keep something like that from his best friend—though Noctis has to admit that it would hurt more to hear that he was making out with somebody else.

Not for the first time, he finds himself wondering what it would be like to kiss Prompto there, on his neck—softly at first, and then not so soft. He wonders what Prompto’s skin would taste like. Salty, probably. Maybe a little spicy, since he eats so many chiles. Noctis has no idea if it works like that. He’s never kissed anybody. He’s never wanted to, except for Prompto, who he wants to kiss very, very badly. 

He imagines running his hands along Prompto’s arms, and up his torso. He imagines what it would feel like to hold him close and to know that Prompto doesn’t want him to let go. He wants this so much it hurts. Would Prompto’s breath quicken and would his heart beat fast the way his does, when he thinks about touching Prompto? Oh how he wants to find out. He wants to learn how to make Prompto feel good—to give him everything he deserves, and more. He wants—

“—Lucis Caelum, I repeat: Eos to Noctis Lucis Caelum. Are you with us, Your Highness?”

Snapping out of his daydream, Noctis looks up to see the teacher smirking at him, and there’s a chorus of snickering from his classmates. _Jerks._

Prompto twists around in his chair and whispers, “He asked why the Rogue was shunned by the people.”

_Not this again._

Noctis leans back in his seat and says, “It’s hard enough for women in politics _now_. Can you imagine what it was like back then? Crepera probably wore a mask and went off to live in the woods because she wanted to—so she could get away from other people.” Noctis smiles. “And I don’t blame her.” 

Their teacher looks annoyed about his failure to really embarrass the prince, then continues to drone on about the Rogue. 

“Nice save!” Prompto whispers, reaching a hand back over his shoulder. 

Noctis gives him five, but wishes he could hold his hand instead—and then maybe run off somewhere they could be alone. Maybe somewhere outside the Crown City. The Myrlwood? He’s heard there’s good fishing there. They could build a little cabin and live on whatever he can catch. Ignis can be king and then he’ll be off the hook. He wonders if they can get electricity and internet out there in the middle of nowhere. 

Gazing out the window at nothing in particular, he doesn’t hear another word of the lecture. He’s too busy decorating an imaginary house with all of his and Prompto’s favorite things.

⁂

First thing in the morning is usually the best time for dry mounting, because there’s not much competition for the press. Prompto makes it all the way to his last photo before anybody asks him when he’s going to be done with it.

When he’s finished, he lays them out on a table—his final portfolio. All that’s left to do is frame them.

He used black and white film for these and processed the prints in the darkroom. The art teachers started allowing digital methods a few years ago, but there’s something really special about the old way. There’s much less room for complicated bullshit, and Prompto likes the process of it. When he’s working in the darkroom, he has to slow down and focus on the image in front of him, making careful adjustments; waiting and watching for it to look just how he wants, so he can fix that moment onto paper. It’s one of the best ways, aside from running, to get his brain to shut up about other things. 

His portfolio’s going to be part of an exhibit of work from the graduating class. One of the teachers is friends with a downtown gallery owner who offered to host the event. It’s kind of exciting, but Prompto’s nervous about the idea of people seeing his work. 

It’s not that his photos are bad, it’s just that they might not be very interesting to anyone but him. In fact, as he’s looking at them, he notices that each of his selections has the same subject: Noctis. How did he not catch that before?

The laws against publishing photos of the prince apply to the school just as much as they do to the media, so Prompto always makes sure Noctis wears a mask in the photo booth at dances and never turns in any assignments that show his face. Instead, he’s got a shot of Noctis from behind, walking down an alley to the arcade, hood pulled up because it was cold that day. And here’s a picture of his hands, holding a drink and a bag of popcorn at the movie theater, just after the lights went down. And here are his feet, in brand new shoes, hanging over the top of a graffiti-covered wall while he smoked off-camera. There isn’t a single photo in the bunch that doesn’t have some part of him in it. Some people might not notice this, but Noctis definitely will, and he’ll probably think it’s creepy. Even worse—if Ignis or Gladio happen to go into the gallery and see all this, they’ll never let Prompto near his best friend again. 

Another student walks over and leans against the table. “Those look really good.”

“Thanks, but . . .” Prompto cringes. “I dunno. I wonder if it needs something else.” 

“No way, man. The series is solid. I’m getting the same feeling from all of them, like longing, or something? They’re kind of sad, but not in a cheap way. You know?”

_Fuck._

Prompto gives his classmate a shaky smile. “Maybe. Thanks.”

Flipping through his binder of negatives, he looks for anything else that might fit. He has a few nice cityscapes. Maybe some animals? There are a lot of those—even some without Noctis in them. If he stays late today, he might be able to put together a halfway decent portfolio without exposing his entire heart in the process. 

He heads to the darkroom, turns up the music, and gets to work.

⁂

Graduation day has finally arrived, and though he doubts that he deserves the honor, Noctis is the valedictorian. He’s not the smartest person in the class, or the hardest working, but apparently he has the best grades. He suspects that this has less to do with his academic prowess and more to do with his teachers’ hesitation to give him anything less than an A, even when he’s turned in work late with flimsy excuses about official meetings and other royal nonsense.

Maybe it’s appropriate that his reward for this dubious honor is to give a speech—to stand up in front of their entire graduating class and say something inspirational. It’s like this situation was perfectly tailored to torture him. 

Ignis says it will be good practice for all the speeches he’s going to have to make in his life, and he _did_ try to help. He said it should be a message to their class, reflecting on their time at school and looking forward into the future. He told Noctis to remember that his classmates are also his future subjects, but thinking about it that way only made it worse. 

Noctis doesn’t actually like most of the people in his class, and he really doesn’t feel like giving a speech to them. Instead, he decided to write a speech to Prompto, hiding his feelings behind tired clichés and hoping nobody else notices.

When he hears his name, Noctis walks up to the podium, trying his best to ignore the size of the crowd. He zeros in on Prompto, cheering and pumping his fist from the front row. 

When the applause finally quiets down, Noctis begins: “To be honest, I don’t know why I’m standing up here.” 

There’s some laughter from the crowd, and he immediately tenses up. Then Prompto leans forward and gives him an encouraging smile. Noctis takes a deep breath. He can do this.

“Aside from being the prince, I’m not really very interesting,” he says. “ _You’re_ much more interesting. You’ve done so many different things in your time here—artistic and athletic and everything in between—on top of keeping up with classes.” He pauses while some people give themselves and each other a round of applause, even though he wasn’t talking about them.

Keeping his eyes fixed on Prompto, he says, “Since I’m up here though, I want to say _thank you_. For everything. Thank you for all the fun, stupid times. Thank you for helping me get through exams and dances and college admissions. Thank you for letting me pretend I was a regular kid in high school.” He smiles. “Thank you for being my friend.”

Noctis grips the edge of the podium and stares down at his notes. Nothing he’s saying is especially profound, but he’s feeling emotional all of a sudden. He _really_ doesn’t want to cry up here in front of all these jerks. When he looks up again, Prompto’s eyes are also watery. At least he’s not alone.

“The future may lead us on different paths, but there are two things I know for sure. One, we’re always going to treasure this time that we’ve shared, and two, you are going to do amazing things.” Ignis had told him to say ‘we’ in that last line, but he wasn’t feeling it.

“That’s all I’ve got,” he concludes, waving his diploma. “We did it.”

The crowd erupts in applause, and Noctis feels like melting into the stage, but he’ll have to settle for returning to his seat. 

After the ceremony, there’s a reception with non-alcoholic punch and at least five different kinds of cookies. Since graduation is a fairly large, public event, his security detail is in full uniform—intimidating in their black suits and sunglasses. For once, Noctis is grateful to have them around, giving him some breathing room.

He and Prompto are huddled on one end of a balcony, about as far away from the officers as they can get without climbing down the wall—though Noctis is honestly tempted to do that.

“I liked your speech,” Prompto says quietly, twisting apart a sandwich cookie. 

“Good . . . ” Noctis smiles and bumps him with his shoulder. “‘Cause I wrote it for you.”

“Yeah, I could tell.” Prompto grins. “Thanks.”

Noctis shrugs.

Looking down at the garden below, Prompto asks, “So, what are your plans for the summer?”

“Working, I guess, and hanging out with you—right?” 

“Yeah?” Prompto looks up at Noctis like he’s unsure, and it makes his heart hurt.

“Is there even any question?” he laughs, wrapping an arm around Prompto’s shoulder. 

_“I don’t know!”_ he whisper-yells. “Are you still allowed to hang out with _plebs_ now that you’re done with public school?” 

“Is this about my speech? _Fuck_ , dude. That was metaphorical.” Noctis squeezes him. “I hope you aren’t planning on going anywhere.”

“No way! I’ll be right here at your side . . . until we’re old men.”

“Arguing about deep Assassin’s Creed lore,” Noctis laughs.

“Making everyone on the bus listen to our old-ass punk rock—” 

“Sitting at the diner for five hours, drinking unlimited coffee refills while the kids wait for a table!”

“Fishing! _Just_ —fishing!” Prompto wheezes. 

Catching his breath, Noctis says, “Yeah . . . Sometimes old people have the right idea.” 

“For the record, I will go fishing with you any time. Just tell me where and when. I’ll be there.”

“Yeah? How about tomorrow at one? That park by the river, near your place. I’ll bring burgers—and fries.”

The sun is setting now, casting pink and orange light across the flowers and the trees, reflecting off the plate-glass buildings on the far end of the plaza, and illuminating the whole damn sky. And Noctis is sure that none of it comes close to being as warm and radiant and breathtakingly beautiful as his best friend’s face when he says, “It’s a date!”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompto's perfectly terrible choice of karaoke song was, of course, Radiohead's [Creep](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFkzRNyygfk). (Which was _almost_ the name of this fic.) Extra points to anyone who spots all the other song references in that scene.


	4. Epilogue

When Lunafreya gets back to the hotel, the room is blessedly cool and dark. She slips out of her shoes and heads directly for the bathroom to clean up. The dust was plentiful down at the Disc of Cauthess, and she and Pryna are coated in it. When the dog lies down, a cloud poofs out of her fur as soon as she hits the floor.

“Does the lady require something to eat?” Gentiana asks, hovering in the doorway.

“A cup of tea would be lovely. Perhaps a biscuit or two. Thank you, Gentiana.” Lunafreya dries her face with a fluffy white towel, and she’s already starting to feel a bit better. 

The High Messenger smiles serenely and nods before slipping out the door. 

In her suitcase, Lunafreya finds a clean shirt and trousers to put on. She hangs her dress on the shower bar and resolves to wash it before she goes to sleep.

Propping herself up with several pillows, she sits back on one of the beds and turns on the television. It’s important to stay apprised of the messages that the Niflheim propaganda machine is churning out, though it isn’t very pleasant.

Pryna hops up next to her, and Lunafreya strokes her silky ear, which calms them both. She watches long enough to determine that they probably haven’t caught wind of her movements, or those of Noctis and his retinue. Then she shuts the blasted thing off. 

With impeccable timing, Gentiana returns with a tray.

“ _Oh_ , thank you so much, Gentiana. This is lovely.” Lunafreya holds the cup close to her nose and breathes. The scent is floral and light and just like home; it’s exactly what she needs. 

Gentiana sips from her cup and says, “The lady is tired. The Archean demanded much.”

“No more than what I have been preparing for,” Lunafreya sighs, sinking back into the pillows. “This evening, I will rest. Tomorrow, we shall press on.”

Pryna’s head perks up as Umbra appears at the foot of the bed. He greets his sister with a lick to the jowls, and Lunafreya scratches his neck. 

“Umbra! Welcome back. Do you have word from Noctis?”

The dog pants happily as Lunafreya retrieves the notebook. To her surprise and delight, the latest entry has two distinct sets of handwriting:

> _Dear Luna:_
> 
> _Wherever you are right now, I hope you’re safe and that you’re getting enough sleep._
> 
> _We’re doing all right, considering everything._
> 
> _I’ve started to gather my ancestors’ weapons, and we’re connecting with survivors. I don’t know how long it will be before you and I can meet, but if Umbra can keep delivering the notebook, I’m sure we’ll figure it out._
> 
> _So, I can’t believe I’m actually writing this to you, but I have some good news to share. Related to that, I also owe you an apology._
> 
> _I’m sitting here with Prompto right now, because you were right. We’re together now. Finally. I should have listened to you from the beginning, and I’m really sorry I didn’t. _
> 
> _Back then, and until very recently, I was too scared to say how I felt. In the end, I got lucky and didn’t have to say anything. Prompto let me know how he felt about me first._
> 
> _**Hi Lady Lunafreya, this is Prompto Argentum, I took his pen. (Hopefully that's not a crime.)** _
> 
> _**All due respect, but HRH Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV (??) is a dirty rotten liar. Even though he will probably tell you that he was “joking,” he basically ASKED me to kiss him. So actually, he was NOT too scared. He was totally brave, and it worked out great, IMHO (because I DID!)** _
> 
> _**Also- I can’t wait to meet you! Noct has told me so much about you. I heard you play piano! That’s so awesome! And I heard you like stickers! (Racing Car )(Checkered Flag) (I don’t know if you like race cars, but that’s all they had at the Coernix. Sorry if you hate them.)** _
> 
> _**Please tell Pryna that she’s a good girl and that I miss her a lot. Please give her a pat from me. (When I meet you, is it okay if I call her Chibi? I don’t know if she’ll remember me or not but that might help.)** _
> 
> _This is Noctis again. You can probably tell because you can actually read my handwriting. Please feel free to ignore whatever nonsense he wrote, except the part about how you’re awesome and Pryna is a good girl. I agree 100% with all of that._
> 
> _Okay, maybe both of us are responsible for things working out the way they have. Either way, it’s giving me some much-needed happiness right now. So, thank you again for supporting and encouraging me years ago, even though I didn’t listen. Good thing a part of me still thought you were probably right, because you always are._
> 
> _Please stay safe. Please take care of yourself. I’ll see you soon._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Noctis_
> 
>   
> **_& Prompto_**  
> 

By the time she reaches the end, Lunafreya is laughing out loud. She scratches the top of Pryna’s head and says, “Your friend sends his regards.”

“The words of the Chosen bring joy to the Oracle’s heart.” 

“They do.” Lunafreya smiles and says, “I almost wish we had a bottle of champagne to toast Noctis and Prompto.” 

“If the lady desires champagne, the High Messenger could make an inquiry with the concierge.” 

“No, it’s all right,” she laughs. “We should wait until we get to Altissia, when we can all be together again.” 

Gentiana nods and gathers up the teacups and biscuit wrappers. 

“Thank you so much, Gentiana—” Lunafreya cuts herself off with a yawn. 

She should take care of her dress before she nods off, but first, she’s going to read through her dear friend’s notebook entry just one more time. She cannot deny how good it feels to hear that she was right.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to [Shadi](https://twitter.com/JunkyardSHADi) for the spectacular art, for the encouragement and feedback as this story came together, and just generally being awesome. (You can see more fantastic art on her twitter, and check out her super rad FFXV AU comic [here](http://banditrevolverffxv.thecomicseries.com/comics/1#content-start)!)
> 
> Also, huge thanks to my editor, [moonwaif](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonwaif) for so very many rounds of thoughtful review and edits and fantastic suggestions. This turned out so much better thanks to her input. I also want to thank [MT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagitekUnit05953234) for giving me really valuable feedback! ( _Psst_ both of them are such good writers, read their work if you haven't already!)
> 
> I have never spent so long writing a fic as I have on this veritable forest of pining, but working on it and commiserating with friends has been a bright spot in this dreary world. Thanks all. Seriously.
> 
> (For the texting, I used these excellent tutorials: [How to Make iOS Text Messages on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845) and [All the Emoji](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6580324/chapters/15055576) by [CodenameCarrot"](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameCarrot/pseuds/CodenameCarrot) and [La_Temperanza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/pseuds/La_Temperanza).)


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